Malcolm Saunders
Sauntering
Country Walk
Through ancient paths,
'Cross hills sublime.
I trekked on fields so green.
Breathing in the country air,
I lived my rural dream.
To fill my lungs with fresh, clean air,
Was what I sought to do.
I gaxed upon the scenery,
That took my breath to view.
In sweetest, quiet reverie,
I walked alone the route.
'Til suddenly the peace was broke,
By snarling, drooling brute.
With searing pain,
And blood soaked clothes,
From idyll I descend.
The fearsome dog has sunk its teeth,
Deep into my rear end.
Through ancient paths,
'Cross hills sublime.
I trekked on fields so green.
Breathing in the country air,
I lived my rural dream.
To fill my lungs with fresh, clean air,
Was what I sought to do.
I gaxed upon the scenery,
That took my breath to view.
In sweetest, quiet reverie,
I walked alone the route.
'Til suddenly the peace was broke,
By snarling, drooling brute.
With searing pain,
And blood soaked clothes,
From idyll I descend.
The fearsome dog has sunk its teeth,
Deep into my rear end.
Tue, 17 Jul 2007 09:42 am
<Deleted User> (7790)
Ouch!
Here's a sauntering poem written as parrt of a play a few years ago. It seems to match the mood.
SONG: HILL WALKING WITH AN INHALER
The wind dilates,
eyes run a bath,
the sheep, a flock of tragic Fates,
attempt to laugh.
Turf’s strung like
the backs of heads,
where unseen Psyche
roughly treads.
Asthmatics hike
Their lung's one-spike
Spearing and retrieving breath
Litter-pickers versus Death
Here's a sauntering poem written as parrt of a play a few years ago. It seems to match the mood.
SONG: HILL WALKING WITH AN INHALER
The wind dilates,
eyes run a bath,
the sheep, a flock of tragic Fates,
attempt to laugh.
Turf’s strung like
the backs of heads,
where unseen Psyche
roughly treads.
Asthmatics hike
Their lung's one-spike
Spearing and retrieving breath
Litter-pickers versus Death
Tue, 17 Jul 2007 10:12 am
Malcolm Saunders
I have a sort of Hiawatha sheep walk. The sheep are gravestones, or sheep, or something. With flying insects.
Valley
In a green and tranquil valley,
peaceful dale, at Vale of York.
Was a wand'ring woolly graveyard,
where we went to take a walk.
Nestled in the sloping green field,
stood a house of mellow stone.
Beneath its solid slate umbrella,
lived a farming clan at home,
Fortress walls around their farmland.
Valley sides held off the world.
Tended fields sit by the farmhouse,
patch worked with the purple heath.
Bound by ancient dry stone ribbons.
Weaving grey, unflinching wreath.
Woolly headstones change their pattern,
signalling another threat.
Helicopter in the farmyard,
posed in brooding insect rest.
Drooping rotors ape antennae,
over shining carapace.
Metal beetle in the farmyard,
is their lifeline and their death.
Misty shroud engulfs the hilltop,
closing in on bygone age.
Stark, beautiful and rugged stone.
Sweet, crystal stream and awesome view.
No longer hosts of farmers living,
groaning under tourist flow.
Sheep that once had fed and clothed them,
now are jst an ornament.
This farmers stock is in the city,
work a chopper ride away.
Millionaire in rural playground.
Shepherd now has had his day.
Valley
In a green and tranquil valley,
peaceful dale, at Vale of York.
Was a wand'ring woolly graveyard,
where we went to take a walk.
Nestled in the sloping green field,
stood a house of mellow stone.
Beneath its solid slate umbrella,
lived a farming clan at home,
Fortress walls around their farmland.
Valley sides held off the world.
Tended fields sit by the farmhouse,
patch worked with the purple heath.
Bound by ancient dry stone ribbons.
Weaving grey, unflinching wreath.
Woolly headstones change their pattern,
signalling another threat.
Helicopter in the farmyard,
posed in brooding insect rest.
Drooping rotors ape antennae,
over shining carapace.
Metal beetle in the farmyard,
is their lifeline and their death.
Misty shroud engulfs the hilltop,
closing in on bygone age.
Stark, beautiful and rugged stone.
Sweet, crystal stream and awesome view.
No longer hosts of farmers living,
groaning under tourist flow.
Sheep that once had fed and clothed them,
now are jst an ornament.
This farmers stock is in the city,
work a chopper ride away.
Millionaire in rural playground.
Shepherd now has had his day.
Tue, 17 Jul 2007 12:30 pm
<Deleted User> (7790)
<Deleted User> (7790)
I've used tent pegs to stop my shadow shifting. I refuse to be a gnomon. A gnomon is not an island.
Tue, 17 Jul 2007 08:55 pm
Malcolm Saunders
Give us more gnomons. The energy saved in batteries and winding up would stop global warming and save the polar bears. We could have polar bears instead of sheep. That would make walking in the Dales much more exciting.
Wed, 18 Jul 2007 10:21 am
Malcolm Saunders
A Walk Along the Severn Way
Between winding flow and waving blade,
The pleasant track along the riverside
Peters out to become a dense thicket
Of nettles and thistles.
With tingling legs and thoughts of clothing
More suitable than shorts.
I wave and cry hello to purple haired ladies
Gliding past in the MV Conway Castle.
Pleasant Pheasant runs ahead,
Turning and looking at me.
Seeing me onto the right path,
And sparing me the wrath of the farmer.
He turns away and wags his wings goodbye.
A lone rabbit hops past. His white
Tail flashing its signal of good health.
The small, brown body slips
Down a small brown hole.
Yards later, from that other world,
His white teeth flash their
Message of good will.
Glorious drakes with serene, green sheen,
Mutter to their dowdy consorts.
They discuss whether I am a likely,
Prospect to throw them some food.
They decide I am walking too fast
For that to be likely, and wander off.
Hot and tired, scratched and stung.
I suck a blistered toe and relax.
Calm in the memory of beauty,
And new friends.
Between winding flow and waving blade,
The pleasant track along the riverside
Peters out to become a dense thicket
Of nettles and thistles.
With tingling legs and thoughts of clothing
More suitable than shorts.
I wave and cry hello to purple haired ladies
Gliding past in the MV Conway Castle.
Pleasant Pheasant runs ahead,
Turning and looking at me.
Seeing me onto the right path,
And sparing me the wrath of the farmer.
He turns away and wags his wings goodbye.
A lone rabbit hops past. His white
Tail flashing its signal of good health.
The small, brown body slips
Down a small brown hole.
Yards later, from that other world,
His white teeth flash their
Message of good will.
Glorious drakes with serene, green sheen,
Mutter to their dowdy consorts.
They discuss whether I am a likely,
Prospect to throw them some food.
They decide I am walking too fast
For that to be likely, and wander off.
Hot and tired, scratched and stung.
I suck a blistered toe and relax.
Calm in the memory of beauty,
And new friends.
Wed, 18 Jul 2007 10:23 am
Malcolm Saunders
The Peabody Duck March
Since opening its doors on November 1, 1986, The Peabody Orlando has continued, in unbroken sequence, the traditional March of The Peabody Ducks which began at its sister property, The Peabody Memphis, many, many years ago.
Each morning, promptly at 11 a.m., the hotel's atrium lobby is the scene of a remarkable ritual. In a special elevator, the five North American mallard ducks, four hens and one drake, comprising The Peabody Ducks, descend from their $100,000 penthouse Royal Duck Palace.
When the elevator doors open, The Peabody Ducks, accompanied by their crimson-and-gold-braid-jacketed Duck Master, take up their positions on a plush red carpet and begin The March of The Peabody Orlando Ducks to the strident tones of John Philip Souza's King Cotton March.
They waddle their way in formation through the hotel's marble halls, and when they reach the magnificent, orchid-crowned fountain, which takes center stage in the Atrium Lobby, the ducks mount three red-carpeted steps and splash into the fountain's waters. Tumultuous applause reverberates through the lofty, foliage-draped lobby, and standing ovations are the order of the day by the hundreds of onlookers who daily crowd into the hotel to see one of the greatest shows on earth.
The Peabody Hotel
They unrolled
the great red carpet.
Four ducks
and a drake
came down.
Strutting through
the foyer,
watched by all
the town.
Behind them
marched an
upright man
Bedecked
in martial garb.
With silver tip
upon his cane,
and gold braid
on his arms.
The honoured guests
from penthouse suite
to fountain
feature march.
Then taking well
earned bow
they swim,
in perfect luxury.
Since opening its doors on November 1, 1986, The Peabody Orlando has continued, in unbroken sequence, the traditional March of The Peabody Ducks which began at its sister property, The Peabody Memphis, many, many years ago.
Each morning, promptly at 11 a.m., the hotel's atrium lobby is the scene of a remarkable ritual. In a special elevator, the five North American mallard ducks, four hens and one drake, comprising The Peabody Ducks, descend from their $100,000 penthouse Royal Duck Palace.
When the elevator doors open, The Peabody Ducks, accompanied by their crimson-and-gold-braid-jacketed Duck Master, take up their positions on a plush red carpet and begin The March of The Peabody Orlando Ducks to the strident tones of John Philip Souza's King Cotton March.
They waddle their way in formation through the hotel's marble halls, and when they reach the magnificent, orchid-crowned fountain, which takes center stage in the Atrium Lobby, the ducks mount three red-carpeted steps and splash into the fountain's waters. Tumultuous applause reverberates through the lofty, foliage-draped lobby, and standing ovations are the order of the day by the hundreds of onlookers who daily crowd into the hotel to see one of the greatest shows on earth.
The Peabody Hotel
They unrolled
the great red carpet.
Four ducks
and a drake
came down.
Strutting through
the foyer,
watched by all
the town.
Behind them
marched an
upright man
Bedecked
in martial garb.
With silver tip
upon his cane,
and gold braid
on his arms.
The honoured guests
from penthouse suite
to fountain
feature march.
Then taking well
earned bow
they swim,
in perfect luxury.
Thu, 19 Jul 2007 09:39 am